


That Thing Isaac Does

by HappilyShanghaied



Series: Tumblr Shits and Giggles [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Brotp, Team Human, Wedding Plans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 00:59:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappilyShanghaied/pseuds/HappilyShanghaied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia will go to any length to get Stiles to escort Derek down the aisle at her wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Thing Isaac Does

 

“Remind me again...what are you using to coerce me into escorting Derek Hale down the aisle at your Hellmouth wedding?” Stiles scrunched his face up in a way that usually implied severe farsightedness, as he placed a sticker with Derek's name onto one of the large round circles Lydia had spread out onto her kitchen table.

 

“Uh, because we only know one female who isn't related to him and she's currently living with your best friend?” Lydia chewed on the back end of her pen. It wasn't something she would be caught dead doing in public, but being with Stiles wasn't really like being in public. Plus, he was currently doing the exact same thing.

 

Lydia's eyes combed the contents of the table arduously. “You can't put Derek at that table!” she squeaked. “Chris Argent is sitting there.”

 

“So?”

 

“So - In case you've forgotten, Derek kind of turned his wife into a werewolf...which directly caused her to commit suicide...”

 

Stiles's mouth tightened into a stiff, angry purse. He had strong feelings when it came to Victoria Argent's suicide. He felt awful for Allison's loss, but in his book, anybody who would rather kill themselves than be different was a bigot. He wouldn't cry one tear over a bigot.

 

Lydia raised her hand. “I'm only repeating what Allison's father said. I know Derek was just trying to protect Scott. You can retract your claws, Wolverine.” She winked at him.

 

“You and I are about the only two people we know who can't really answer to that nickname.” He brushed a lazy hand over his hair. “I'm not counting Allison, because she carries, like, five ginormous blades on her person at all times.”

 

“I don't have time to talk about the ways in which we are or are not like Wolverine. I have a God damned wedding to plan,” she huffed, flipping her mane of auburn hair over her shoulder in one dramatic, sweeping gesture.

 

Stiles reminded himself that he only had two weeks more of this hell to live through.

 

Just two more weeks until Lydia Martin would become Lydia Martin-Whittemore, thus fating herself to waking up next to Jackson's beautiful, douchebaggy face every morning for the rest of her life. He figured he should at least help make her final days peaceful.

 

Stiles let his forehead drop to the table with a thud. “Why can't Cora do it?”

 

“Ew.” Lydia's nose wrinkled at the suggestion. “Nobody's first trip down the aisle should be with their sibling, Stiles.”

 

He remained face-down, but angled his head and opened one eye to look at her. “Why not?”

 

“It's bad luck. I think. And if it's not, then it definitely should be.” She raised her eyebrows at him to emphasize her point, then returned to tapping out a steady drum beat on the legal pad resting in her lap with the tip of her pen. “I was kind of hoping that Cora would get drunk enough to finally let Isaac do her. Maybe then he'll finally shut the fuck up about it and move on?”

 

He stared at Lydia with a blank expression. “By 'do' you mean...”

 

She rolled her eyes at his disgusted grimace. “Don't be such a virgin, Stilinski! You'd probably get it more often yourself, if you acted like it didn't matter so much.”

 

Stiles sloughed off her comment, digging his nails into the side of his thigh for fortitude. He wouldn't rise to the bait this time, since it would only waste precious time that Lydia didn't have to spare.

 

He couldn't, however, help himself from taking a parting shot. “Cora can do better.”

 

Lydia's brow quirked. “Of course she can do better, sweetheart, but everybody's got to get it in every once in a while.”

 

“Oh God.” Stiles buried his face in his hands.

 

“Rumor has it, Isaac's killer in the sack.”

 

“Stop talking.” Stiles tried to curl into a protective ball on his chair, but his limbs were too long to fit and kept slipping off.

 

Lydia brought the back of the pen to her bottom lip and rested it there. “I've heard that once you get him out of that scarf, he really knows how to wolf out.”

 

Stiles's face scrunched up in pain. “I _so_ did not ask for that piece of information.”

 

“If you don't believe me, just ask Allison,” Lydia lobbed with persnickety indignation, as if his resistance to hearing about Isaac's sexual prowess had anything to do with him believing her.

 

“No thanks!” He roughly scrubbed both of his hands over his face until his cheeks turned a splotchy pink. “It's like you're trying to give me nightmares. I mean, Isaac might as well be a little were-cherub. I don't want to picture him doing...whatever weird shit you think he's got going on in bed.”

 

“I don't think, I know.” Lydia narrowed her eyes at him, practically daring him not to ask a follow up question. “Isaac does a _thing_. It's an actual thing Stiles, and it's kinky, but so very hot. I guess werewolves just don't get grossed out by the same things we humans do.”

 

Stiles tried desperately to avoid Lydia's gaze.

 

Her voice upticked with glee, as it always did when she'd drawn first blood. “Let's just say, his fingers aren't just good for _tearing_ people's asses apart.”

 

“Oh God.” He groaned and shook his head at her. “I hate you. I hate you so much. You have no idea, woman.”

 

A hearty laugh ripped from the back of her throat. “No, you totally love me.”

 

“Maybe a few years ago, but now? Now? Full on hate. You are evil incarnate,” he declared, weakly.

 

“You have to admit, you are kind of curious...” The end of Lydia's pen pressed down against the cushion of her bottom lip, cleaving it into two plump halves.

 

“Nope. Not even a little bit.”

 

Of course he was. And he loathed himself for it.

 

“It's not—I'm not—I just really don't...” His exhale turned into a primal scream as he gripped the air with his hands. “Dammit! Fine.Tell me. Get it off your perfectly formed chest.” His fingers went from a mimed choke hold to a breast groping pose.

 

She smiled brightly at his distress. “If Jackson catches you doing that, yours will be the next death I'll be screaming about, sugarplum.”

 

Stiles dropped his hands to the table immediately. “Are you going to tell me or what? I'm already going to need to shower off the stench of shame after we finish this conversation, so you may as well go whole hog.”

 

“Sure, I'll tell you.” Lydia rose halfway up in her chair and removed the Derek sticker from Chris Argent's table. “As soon as you agree to escort Derek Hale down the aisle.” She reached out and pressed the name tag onto the end of Stiles's nose.

 

At the mention of Derek's name, Stiles's face fell. He pulled the sticker from his face and secured it to his shirt lapel. “Yeah. I'm not doing that.”

 

“What is your problem?” She leaned with a grin that was a little too broad for something not to be behind it. “What? Are you worried people are going to think you like dick, Stiles?”

 

“I'm pretty sure that's exactly what everybody already thinks, so...try again.” He waved her away with a limp hand. “Seriously, I'll walk anybody else you want down the aisle. Isaac, Cora, your gimpy cousin Larry, your 12 year old dog, your grandma with the incontinence problem...”

 

Both of Lydia's hands flew to her mouth with a gasp. “Oh holy shit!”

 

Stiles's spine snapped to attention. There were only two reasons why Lydia Martin ever covered her own mouth in shock. One, was when the obscure, European shoe brand Chie Mihara had a sample sale, and the other was when she got her hands on some really juicy gossip.

 

“Chie Mihara having another sale?” Stiles asked hopefully, his voice trailing off as his mouth ran bone dry. His eyes searched around for the bottle of water he brought with him.

 

“Looking for this?” Lydia was dangling the plastic container by its neck, just out of Stiles's reach.

 

His mouth opened but no sound escaped.

 

“You don't want to walk Derek down the aisle, but not because you hate him.” She unscrewed the cap from the bottle at a tauntingly slow rate. “You don't want to walk Derek down the aisle, because you want to hump him.”

 

“I--That is just so...” He felt like crying, but it came out in the form of maniacal giggles. He was kind of out of control at this point, but at least his mental break down might just be crazy enough to distract her from the truth.He leered with longing at the bottle of water in Lydia's hands and swallowed down his non-existent saliva hard. “Come on, Lyd. I'm dying here.”

 

Her ruby lips drew into a perfect pout. “You look thirsty.”

 

“Fuck you,” he hissed.

 

She brought the bottle to her lips with a smirk and took a long sip, draining a sizable amount of the water along with Stiles's will to live. She stopped when she reached the halfway mark and made an exaggerated quenched noise.

 

“You are such a---”

 

Lydia brought the bottle to her lips again, but Stiles leapt up to intercept her hand. She sighed and thrust the bottle into his shaking palms.

 

“Wonderful person!” he finished, complete with moderated jazz hands.

 

“Talk.”

 

Stiles held up his finger, then tipped his head back and greedily finished the rest of the water in one go. He took his time, stretching it out as long as he could, to avoid sharing with her the feelings of abject humiliation he would endure, if forced to walk the guy he's been crushing on for the last six years down the aisle.

 

Stiles could barely walk across a large room without tripping. He'd only recently learned how to tie a tie. There was no way he'd be able to pull off the pomp and circumstance of a formal occasion without looking like a total tool. Derek didn't need a front row seat to that.

 

“Stop stalling, Stiles. That bottle has been empty for a full minute now.”

 

He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and tossed the empty bottle into the kitchen's recycling bin, only to helplessly watch as it bounced off the edge of the can and smacked him up the side of the head.

 

“Smooth.” Lydia bit back a snicker.

 

“You see why I don't like telling you things?” He crushed the bottle in his hands and carefully placed it in the center of the table.

 

“You like him. So what? It's not like everybody doesn't already know?” She shrugged and turned her attention back to the seating arrangement.

 

“Wait—what?” Stiles did a double take.

 

“The smell thing,” she said without looking up, wiggling her fingers in the air to fill in the blanks, like she always did when she discussed something supernatural that she couldn't care less about.

 

His fists tightened by his sides. “What smell thing?”

 

“You know...” She switched a few seating chart pieces around and then looked up at him. “Jackson says when guys get horny, werewolves can smell their arousal.”

 

“Oh Jesus. That is the exact last way I ever wanted you to use the word arousal in context.” His mouth fell open in horror. “So what? Derek walks into the room and every werewolf in there can tell when I start to pop wood? I mean, I knew they could when I was younger, but we're 24 now. I do have some control, I'm not a pneumatic teenager. Fuck.”

 

“Not _your_ arousal, honey.” Lydia brought her chin down and looked at him pointedly.

 

If it were even possible for his mouth to open wider, hearing that news would have triggered it.

 

“I'll do it. I'll walk Derek down the aisle,” Stiles said quickly and with force.

 

The corners of Lydia's mouth picked up. “Of course you will.”

 

Stiles knee began to anxiously bounce against the leg of the table, like a Mexican jumping bean, knocking Lydia's legal pad from the table. “So...uh...”

 

She sighed her annoyance and reached down to grab the fallen notepad. “Spit it out already.”

 

“That _thing_ that Isaac does in bed...”

 

“Oh that.” She bit her lip to keep from laughing. “You really want to know?"

 

He made his 'get on with it' face at her.

 

"Okay, don't kill me, but...I totally made that up. Played you like a Austrian fiddle.”

 

Stiles wanted to kill her. Kill her dead. Squash her like the small, perfect, annoying ladybug she was.

 

 

But at the end of the day, he figured that marrying Jackson was punishment enough for anything.

 

"Can I get away with wearing leather converse as real shoes?"

 

"No."

 

"Are you sure?"

 

 

 

 

Stop by and say hi on Tumblr: [Happily Shanghaied](http://happilyshaghaied.tumblr.com)


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